


Before the War Cry is Written

by corvidConstellation



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Anticapitalist Themes, Cottagecore, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Canon, Reincarnation, if you consider andrew's music career as canon anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidConstellation/pseuds/corvidConstellation
Summary: A breeze blows, shifting the grass and the trees and everything in the meadow beyond the cottage porch. It’s a pretty spring day, perfect and lazy and with nothing on the calendar.And Alex Ryan considers the idea of his lover starting a war.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Alex Ryan (Hozier)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Before the War Cry is Written

**Author's Note:**

> Do y’all ever think about how Hozier came into the music scene with Take Me To Church, got famous, and then turned around and gave us bangers like Nina Cried Power and Jackboot Jump? Bc I think about that a lot.

A breeze blows, shifting the grass and the trees and everything in the meadow beyond the cottage porch. It’s a pretty spring day, perfect and lazy and with nothing on the calendar.

And Alex Ryan considers the idea of his lover starting a war.  
  
“I won’t do anything without your permission, of course,” Andrew says. He lifts his tea cup up and takes a sip, and then places it down and leans back once more.  
  
“You could do anything,” Alex says.  
  
Andrew smiles, small and genuine as his eyes flicker. “Come, now. Not _anything_ .”  
  
“You’re an ancient fae, Andy. _Nearly_ anything.”  
  
“I can do many things, sure.”  
  
“The will of one human like myself is surely one of the things you could overcome,” Alex laughs.  
  
Andrew meets his gaze with a side-glance. “One like yourself, perhaps. But not you.”  
  
Alex glances out at the field. It’s peaceful in their little patch of the world. Alex always enjoys the times when he can spare the time to come up here and leave his job behind to just be with Andrew. It’s far from Dublin, where he actually works, and even further from the world outside of Ireland, which is descending into chaos. Of course, they’re only a few phone-taps away from checking in on the news and witnessing the global state of affairs, but so long as that remains in his pocket, could sit here and pretend the biggest event of the day is if it’ll be too cloudy to bother putting out a laundry line.  
  
And then there’s Andrew, who Alex doesn’t quite understand, but who Alex loves all the same.  
  
“Would you do it if I weren’t alive right now?” Alex asks.  
  
“Yes,” Andrew says. “But you are. And so the circumstances are different.”  
  
He smiles, but it’s not quite genuine. He thinks for a long moment, and finally Alex decides that he shouldn’t ask leading questions. “What would you do?”  
  
“I’d sing.”  
  
Oh, Alex knows that Andrew can sing. Andrew has guitars and pianos across their cottage and even scattered about Alex’s apartment in Dublin. He plays old folk and R&B and jazz and sometimes even non-human songs that have this unmistakable quality of allure to them. His voice is enchanting, sometimes in a literal sense. (He can’t always help that. His very existence is not of this realm, and so everything about him appears ethereal in a way Alex cannot describe.) His voice is matched by his fingers too - Alex had worried at first, back when he hadn't known the first thing about Andrew, that he was one of those vocalists who knows a few tricks on guitar and claims to be a professional. Luckily, Alex was dead wrong. Andrew cares for the instruments he collects as much as he cares about the singing that goes along with it. Perhaps he's biased in his opinion. Though, even if he weren’t so deeply in love, he’s sure that Andrew’s music would still be objectively stunning.  
  
“I would craft music and find a way to release it to the masses on the internet. Weave enough magick into it at first to gain attention. Just for traction,” Andrew says. “And then, once I’ve made myself known and once they’d listen to what else I have to say, I’d sing a real message. A war cry. No magick in it, just me. And then I’d attempt to lead a charge.”  
  
“Against capitalism?” Alex asks.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Through the music industry?”  
  
“You say that like it’s preposterous, but humans communicate through more than just words and declarations. Music is the living embodiment of art and expression,” Andrew says. “Humans are quite good at finding ways to bind themselves together. When they hear music that speaks to them, the music becomes a place they belong. A part of them. Something to fight for, territorial and protective.”  
  
“What would you have me do, in this plan of yours?” Alex finally asks.  
  
Andrew’s eyes grow sharp, staring right at Alex. A fleeting thought says that he’s looking into Alex’s soul, and Alex is reminded that his soul is why Andrew is here. He doesn’t have time to ponder it, because Andrew is saying, “I would have you by my side, every minute.”  
  
“I don’t see myself spearheading a revolution,” Alex says doubtfully.  
  
“Then…” Andrew hesitates. “Erm, then perhaps I ought to put the idea out of my head.”  
  
“Now, I didn’t say _that_ .”  
  
Andrew looks at him curiously.  
  
Alex drinks his own tea, slowly. “I don’t understand things the way you do, Andy. I don’t understand the world, or the depths of what you are. I hardly understand the… the basics of our relationship. But I have my feelings— my heart to guide me.”  
  
“You’d trust the whims of your heart?” Andrew asks, smiling with amusement.  
  
“My heart is the same as my soul, don’t you think?” Alex asks, watching Andrew’s posture go tense at the words. “My mind doesn’t hold the memories that you claim we share, obviously. My mind would have me discount you as a devoted stalker. My mind would have me shun everything about you. And yet.”  
  
Andrew smiles. “And _yet_ .”  
  
“My heart feels love. Trust. My heart tells me to follow you to the end of the world. If I’m to trust my heart, then I understand you value my time on the earth above all else.”  
  
“I do,” Andrew says.  
  
“I know,” Alex nods. “So you see where I’m compromised. I know nothing of revolution, or of fame, or of the complexities of economic systems, however much I should like to follow you into the fray of it.”  
  
“Don’t sell yourself short. Where your heart leads, your mind catches up, and your heart leads you correctly. Always. In every life, invariably, you have this…” Andrew interrupts himself by chuckling. “This foolproof moral compass. I’ve only ever seen you led astray once or twice.”  
  
“Once or twice in how many years?”  
  
“Twenty-five hundred.”  
  
Alex shakes his head. “I wasn’t alive all of those years.”  
  
“I don’t care much for the gaps when you’re not.”  
  
“Andrew, consider this. Revolutions are bloody. If you’re making yourself a leader, they’ll come for you and me.”  
  
“Yes,” Andrew says, his neutral expression dropping into clear distaste for the first time in the conversation. He frowns and looks off into the field. “That is rather the part I’d like not to dwell on.”  
  
“Well, you can’t wait,” Alex points out. “The world won’t improve on it’s own.”  
  
“Sure I can. I’m perfectly _capable_ . I would watch the world turn to ash if you willed it,” Andrew says.  
  
Alex sighs. “We’ve been over this. If you insist that my will is yours, then you must acknowledge that your will is mine as well.”  
  
Andrew glances over Alex, head to toe. “You’ve made me aware.”  
  
“So?” Alex asks. “Your will is to overthrow the system. Which is fairly time sensitive; global warming’s gonna kill us all if the rich stay in power.”  
  
“And you say you know nothing of politics,” Andrew mutters under his breath.  
  
Alex ignores him. “Your will is also to spend your life with me. You’d happily sit in this house with me until I die of old age.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But you run into problems any path you take,” Alex says. “If you take me to your revolution, you endanger my life. If you leave me here and go alone, you’ll be without me. If you wait out this life of mine, the world gets worse and worse, and the world will be in a worse condition when my soul reincarnates.”  
  
Andrew’s face may as well be stone. He stares into the field with no expression on his face. One might think him a statue, if his hair did not tremor in the wind.  
  
Alex makes his choice. “I’ll come with you.”  
  
Andrew blinks, then looks over with wide eyes, so animated that he seems an entirely separate person from the Andrew of a few seconds ago. “You will?”  
  
“Yes,” Alex nods.  
  
“How— erm. What made you… why?” Andrew asks.  
  
Alex laughs at the stutter. “ _Jaysus_ , Andew.”  
  
Andrew smiles. “Well? Tell me.”  
  
“You have our best interests at heart,” Alex shrugs. “And I agree. The future won’t improve unless we make change. And I have no intention of leaving you.”  
  
“But I can’t protect you,” Andrew says sadly. “Not from everything. Not from what we might face.”  
  
“Andrew, I’m just one life.”  
  
He looks stricken at that, eyes flooding with such sorrow and pain.  
  
“Well I _am_ ,” Alex says. “I’ll come back. Or, rather, my soul will. You’ll find me again. What does it matter to you?”  
  
Andrew stands abruptly and makes for the door.  
  
“Hey—“ Alex stands and grabs at the back of Andrew’s coat. “Andrew?”  
  
Andrew turns on the spot and grabs at Alex’s arms, close and comforting and warm. His face is anything but, though — his lips tremble and twist down, pressed together as his jaw tightens. His breath hits Alex’s face as he stares down, searching Alex’s eyes. Ever so slowly, his eyes cloud. Then, unsynchronized, a few tears slip down his cheeks.  
  
“Andrew,” Alex repeats, confused.  
  
“None of your lives matter any less than the rest,” Andrew says. “I understand it must be difficult to comprehend. These human minds, they’re not made to make sense of such things. But why can’t you just be a normal selfish human and care more about your current life?”  
  
“Because I trust I’ll have another,” Alex says uncertainly. “Won’t I?”  
  
Andrew’s hands grip at Alex’s elbows, and he turns his head away. “You don’t understand.”  
  
“Then _make_ me,” Alex says. “Andrew, help me understand. I want to.”  
  
Slowly, Andrew’s eyes slide back over to Alex’s, and he ducks his head. “I’m sorry. I’m being emotional.”  
  
“You’re physically incapable of lying,” Alex presses. “What do I not understand? What about what I’ve said is upsetting you so much?”  
  
Andrew sighs. And then, he leans in and kisses Alex, soft and comforting, but avoiding Alex’s request.  
  
“Andrew,” he chides.  
  
“You may reincarnate, but every single one of your lives is valuable to me,” Andrew relents. “Every single one, I love you. Even when we’re ripped apart prematurely. Even when the world is against us, as it so often is. Even when you grow old and ill and I have to watch you suffer through your frailness, _I love you_ . There is never a single life wasted, nor one where I would not fight fate itself just to have more time with you. So please, don’t tell me I ought not care simply because you will return.”  
  
Alex is at a loss for words, so he simply kisses Andrew again.  
  
Andrew chuckles.  
  
Gently, Alex wipes Andrew’s cheeks with his own thumbs before the tears can dry sticky. “I’m sorry. Hadn’t thought of it that way.”  
  
His lover simply nods.  
  
“I’m all heart, no head, remember?”  
  
Andrew smiles bright and brilliant at that. “You’re always reminding me why I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, in case you forgot.”  
  
“One day,” Andrew whispers. “I’ll be able to tell you those words no matter where we are.”  
  
Alex feels his smile falter. “You… you mean in public?”  
  
“Yes,” Andrew says.  
  
He smiles, but it’s the sort that you do while furrowing your brows. “Andrew…”  
  
“I won’t. Not before the world is safe, and not before you’re ready,” Andrew assures. “But one day, when I write songs, I won’t have to invent characters and stories. I’ll write entire songs that are truly about me, not just fragments. And I’ll sing about my lover with the correct pronouns and nobody will ever assume there’s a woman I dream of.”  
  
“That sounds lovely,” Alex smiles. He believes that Andrew believes it, because Andrew cannot tell lies, but Andrew’s beliefs do not make the world go ‘round.  
  
“And I’ll wear your ring on the correct hand,” Andrew promises.  
  
“Not this life, love.”  
  
Andrew sighs wistfully. “Perhaps not. But soon. The world isn’t far off. Perhaps I’ll make the songs straight, but the videos ambiguous. You know, so that the radio will make us appear acceptable to the masses, but our stance on the matter will not be uncertain for those who look.”  
  
“You already have plans for your music?” Alex asks, surprised. He pulls back a little, and steps towards the edge of the cottage porch.  
  
Andrew follows, his hand slipping down and linking with Alex’s. “Of course. And you’ll play with me, yes? If you’re coming?”  
  
“You want me to play?”  
  
“I want nothing more,” Andrew says. “I want your voice to be my harmony. I want your bass to guide my guitar. I want your deft hands pressing keys to build the chords of our songs.”  
  
“I can’t do all at once.”  
  
“No. But I want an excuse to keep you near in every performance, so I ask you to do all of those as the situations arise. Would you?”  
  
“Andrew, I already said yes,” Alex smiles.  
  
”But I’ve got to check, don’t I?” Andrew shoots back. “Just in case.”  
  
Alex shakes his head.  
  
“I live for you, love,” Andrew says.  
  
“How’d I ever get a fae wrapped around my finger?” Alex asks lazily. “Don’t answer. That was rhetorical.”  
  
“Good. It’s a very old, very complicated story,” Andrew smiles.  
  
Alex takes a deep breath and looks out at the fields once more. “You sure know how to pick your fights, love. Us versus the whole world, with nothing but our voices and some music.”  
  
Andrew’s smile grows into a full grin.  
  
“Promise me you’ll try to see it through,” Alex says, carefully picking his words. He doesn’t normally ask Andrew to make promises for a couple of reasons. Firstly because Andrew often does exactly what Alex wants, promise or not, but secondly because promises are high-risk endeavors for fae. “Even if they take me. Even if I’m gone. Promise me right now that you won’t give up because of that.”  
  
After a moment of silence, Andrew meets his eye. “I promise on my true name.”  
  
“We should go inside and start writing those anthems, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three hours bc I couldn't get it out of my head. Lmk if anyone's interested in more from this au!


End file.
